


"Medical" Leave in Morocco

by Kisleth, Ringshadow



Series: The Kingfisher and His Marksman [5]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Blow Jobs, Coulson has a family, Fluff, M/M, Nightmares, Post-Mission, Pre-Canon, Pre-Movie, post-mission care
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-22
Updated: 2013-03-19
Packaged: 2017-11-29 16:17:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/688942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kisleth/pseuds/Kisleth, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ringshadow/pseuds/Ringshadow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After being apart too long from missions schedules not lining up, Phil takes vacation time into his own hands and meets up with Clint in Morocco for a little R&R.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Once again, thanks to our darling [Kuro~](http://archiveofourown.com/users/YamiKuro/)

Clint is tired and yawning and dragging his feet as he disembarks the plane. He has a small bag with him carrying what little he brought with him that he might need here. Natasha had taken the rest home for him. His right arm is in a sling, his sleeves pushed up, and both wrists are wrapped in medical gauze and tape.

He looks around for Phil blearily as he grabs coffee to wake himself up. He’s already missed enough time with Phil after finally getting together. He doesn’t want to sleep any of it away if he can help it.

Phil is waiting at the gate, and smiles warm and real when he sees Clint, even in spite of the state the other man’s in. Jesus, they really are just a pair of alley cats, what the hell happened in Russia? At the same time, he doesn’t care, or at least he can care later, he hasn’t seen Clint in a good two months and no time like the fuckin’ present.

He makes his way over, in casual clothes and taking in the jetlagged expression, coffee, and sling. “Clint. I missed you.” He settles on a half hug and brief nuzzle against Clint’s damaged ear since they’re in public. “Come on. I got us a nice hotel room. We are long overdue some R&R together.”

Clint does his best not to go limp against Phil completely and just leans on him. “Fuck, I missed ya too.” He presses his forehead to Phil’s neck for a moment and just inhales his scent. It’s like rain on the desert, it washes over him and soothes all irritations. He almost wants to babble fluffy, sappy things but none come immediately to mind. “Ya are perfect an’ wonderful an’ ‘mazin’.” He almost blurts out, ‘marry me’ somewhere in there but bites his tongue.

Phil starts laughing, warm and soft, holding Clint steady against him. “You. Are very, very jet lagged. Come on. Let’s go so you can get some rest. Morocco can wait until tomorrow when you aren’t fighting to keep your eyes open.” He takes Clint’s bag and walks with him. He actually did rent a car for this trip and takes them to it in the parking lot, unlocking it, unable to get the smile off his face.

“You have no idea.” Clint groans. He drinks his coffee—he’ll stay awake as long as he can. Rest doesn’t necessarily mean sleep. Clint doesn’t so much sit in the car as he melts bonelessly into the front seat. He can’t shut the door due to the sling at first, but he manages to hook his foot under the door and jerk it shut without losing his appendage. Impressive for his current sluggishness.

Phil only smiles and gets them on the road. He’s driven all over the world and while it’s been awhile since he did so in Morocco, he manages to get them back to the hotel only checking his phone for directions once. He procures a parking spot and walks around the car, opening the door and helping Clint out. He uses the half-lie of assistance to keep an arm around Clint as they walk into the hotel, other hand carrying Clint’s bag, daring to nuzzle him again once they’re on the otherwise empty elevator.

Clint sighs softly and leans into the gentle nuzzling. To be completely honest, he loves it. He turns his head a little to kiss the nearest patch of skin—Phil’s cheek which blossoms into a blush under his lips. He really is too tired to be talking, because this time he almost says, ‘I love you’. He settles for drinking more coffee and leaning more into Phil.

Phil knows Clint’s silence is either due to exhaustion or pain because honestly, what else shuts the archer up? (Well, he has a few dirty ideas but that’s besides the point.) The former seems the likely culprit in this circumstance.

He keeps a steadying arm around Clint as they step out of the elevator, going down the hall and carding into the suite he got them. He holds the door for Clint and shuts it behind them. He’d actually tapped one of his reserve accounts to arrange this little trip, and the cost of the room actually shows in the lack of flash, and the size of the bed.

The luggage is still piled in a corner of the bedroom, he’d taken time to deal with his but not what he’d gotten for Clint yet. “So, really at this point I’m just happy to have you within arms reach. Probably the best thing for you right now is eight to ten hours sleep. Deal with the world tomorrow.” And if Fury calls them, he swears to god he’s going AWOL.

Clint smiles sleepily and pulls his phone from his pocket. He opens the back of it one-handed and drops the battery to the floor. “I’ll be awake ‘fore ‘Tasha can worry, anyone else can fuck themselves.” He likes only being a Specialist and consultant even more right then. He can do this without getting reprimanded or docked pay or anything else like that. SHIELD only ‘owns’ him when he’s on a job for them or filling out paperwork.

Clint sighs and leans into Phil a little more. “Like touchin’ ya…” he mutters, nuzzling his face into Phil’s neck and shoulder. He kisses the side of his neck before sighing heavily. “Don’t think I c’n get on th’bed m’self.” He giggles softly, but it’s true. He’s one foggy body ache and the bed reaches mid-thigh.

Phil shivers, smoothing a hand at Clint’s lower back to support him with a sigh. “Like I’m going to protest getting you undressed and putting you to bed. But first, question.” He gives the strap of the sling a very gentle tug with one finger. “Can you sleep with this off?” It’s a fair question. He’s honestly not sure just how hurt Clint is and the other man’s recovery is a higher priority than Phil’s desire to get him bare and snuggle him to sleep.

“Yeah, ‘s jus’ a sprained wrist.” He shrugs. He steps back a bit and takes the strap off with his pinky. His coffee cup in hand is empty by now anyway. “It’s mostly there t’remind me not to use the arm because then I’ll hurt myself ‘fore I remember not ta, y’know?” He sets the coffee cup down and wraps both arms around Phil’s shoulders to bury his face in his boyfriend’s neck. “Y’smell so fuckin’ _good_.”

Phil’s self control neatly tosses the cards down and folds for this game, and Phil gathers Clint close, the noise of pleasure in his chest loud and indulgent as he burrows into Clint, hands stroking his back. Clint smells of travel, airplanes and stale air, and medical; more importantly Clint smells like himself, that heavy primal electric goodness of gunpowder and metal and clean sweat that makes a shiver march up Phil’s back.

“I missed you. I was worried about you. I know you can take care of yourself, but that didn’t stop me from worrying.” Phil says in a quiet, strained voice. “Let’s try not to go that long apart in the future. I really do prefer being in the room with you on jobs.” He backs off enough to nuzzle Clint face to face. “Come on. Let’s get you undressed and put to bed, hmm?”

Clint unashamedly hugs him tighter, burying his face back into his shoulder after a quick peck. Screw the bed, he’s good just where he is. He nods at Phil’s words regardless. He’ll do whatever his handler tells him because right now he needs to follow orders for his personal benefit, even if he doesn’t like them. He’s just happy enough to be back in Phil’s arms and back to relative normalcy.

He’d missed Phil, missed his voice in his ear and his arms around his waist. He’d worried for him too… to a point. “Phil…” He talks against the older man’s throat, not loosening his grip for a second. He’s not going to like saying this any more than Phil’s going to enjoy hearing it. “You gotta keep an eye on me.”

He lets Phil pull back a bit so he can meet his eyes. “They got me, ambushed me when I was infiltratin’ the Room. I… I can’t be trusted when I go to sleep—which is why I haven’t.” Clint rests his forehead against Phil’s, “I fergot everythin’ my past, my job, SHIELD… even you.” He chokes on that last word. He’d hated himself for that when he remembered. “The last week was them poking ‘round in my head after ‘Tasha repeatedly beat the shit outta me so I would remember.” She’d called it ‘cognitive recalibration’ or some bull like that.

Phil goes still for a moment. Shit. He knew well what The Room was capable of. Yes, long term, it had given them Natasha—but as much as he loved her to death, he wasn’t sure it was worth it. “I knew you weren’t telling me something.” Phil finally says, stroking Clint’s hair slowly with one hand. “When Nat told me not to come I knew something had happened. I’ve got you, Clint. I’ll keep watch while you sleep.” He kisses Clint on the lips, very lightly. “I am so sorry that you went through that. But I know we’ll be okay.” His other hand barely skims under the edge of Clint’s shirt, fingertips stealing the barest touch of skin at the small of Clint’s back.

Clint shivers slightly at Phil’s fingers under his shirt. He’d missed all the physical contact with him that he nearly asked Natasha for shirtless cuddles (and thank whoever that she wouldn’t kill him for asking. She happens to like how he’s a human furnace most of the time). “Didn’t wanna worry ya.” He shrugs slightly, “an’ ‘Tash didn’t want ya ta get hurt wi’ me not knowin’ ya, y’know?” She’d made a good call as far as he was concerned. He would have hated himself for hurting Phil like that—even accidentally. “Thanks… ‘bout keepin’ watch,” he murmurs absently, his mind finally registering the promise. It means a lot to him.

Phil sighs. “I won’t lie, reading texts from Natasha that you were out of contact while I was playing sniper did rather ruin my steady hands for a while.” He shifts and sits Clint down on the edge of the bed, reaching down and pulling Clint’s shirt off slowly, dropping it aside. He kneels to untie Clint’s shoes. 

Clint braces himself on the bed with his good arm and watches Phil, a blush rising to his ears. No one has done this for him before—at least not while he was conscious and able to watch. He reaches out, bad wrist or no, and gently trails a finger along the line of Phil’s face with a small smile. He’s here and Clint’s here and they are together and no one is going to bother them (and if they do, they can go to their next fancy party with a Columbian Neck Tie).

“I did end up getting hurt.” Phil continues as he cups the back of Clint’s calf to carefully tug a shoe off. “Not bad, but self defenestration tends to leave a mark. Got done what I had to do, though, and got home in one piece. Just a few more scars for my trouble.” He lays a gentle kiss to one of his archer’s knees while he removes the other.

Clint’s knee twitches a little and a soft whine escapes his throat. “That felt weird.” He refuses to say that it tickled. He’s not ticklish, dammit. He looks Phil’s features over carefully, but he can’t really see anything different so most of the scars must be out of his view. “Yeah, I got mostly concussions. An’ the sprain when I, uh, attacked ‘Tasha.” He doesn’t want to go into detail. It’s a bit embarrassing.

“Oh, an’ the ear.” He waves to it with a finger where a blood black scab makes it look whole but once gone he’ll certainly have a triangle chunk missing. “I was tryin’ ta escape the chains I was in, dislocated a shoulder doin’ tha’, an’ I got it pinched in the links an’ tore a chunk out. Blood fuckin’ everywhere.”

“I still feel like I should have been there. I get why I wasn’t.” Phil’s voice is briefly muffled as he pulls his shirt off. He tugs his belt free and takes off some concealed knife holsters. He doesn’t have to state that he is one of the people in SHIELD that command really doesn’t want compromised. They both know that very well from operations running like this before. It’s just so much more apparent now that they are a couple and noticing these things.

Really, if he was compromised, SHIELD would make maybe one good attempt at retrieval before deciding Phil was a write-off and it was better to kill him rather than compromise other agents and missions due to what Phil knows getting into the wrong hands.

Phil climbs across bed and grabs his e-reader off the nightstand so it is within arms reach. He holds an arm out for Clint, waiting for the younger to come close enough to help him settle down. “I did pack you some sleepwear if you want it.”

Clint unfastens his pants with one hand and shimmies out of them carefully. “Nah, ‘s warm enough. Boxers’re fine.” Truthfully, he wants as much skin exposed as possible to soak up the feeling of Phil against him once more.  He snuggles back against him with a soft sigh, facing away only so he doesn’t have to sleep on his bad ear. Words rise to his lips, loving and sweet words he hasn’t spoken in decades, and never to Phil. He bites his lip and closes his eyes. He doesn’t deserve any of this, but he won’t mess it up either. He’ll shelter and preserve what they have until Phil realizes that he’s not worth this.

Phil leans on his elbow and watches Clint arrange himself carefully, studying the man. After a moment’s decision and in a quick move, he basically manages to roll over Clint while barely putting weight on him to land on his back on Clint’s other side. He slips the arm closer to Clint under him. He pulls him up so Clint’s partly laying on his chest, other hand coming up to brush along the stubble on his jaw and up to stroke his hair. He snags the flat sheet with his feet and pulls it up to their waists, settling in and nuzzling the top of Clint’s head with a low, content noise.

“Talented,” Clint chuckles. He pets Phil’s chest idly as he nuzzles his face into the crook of the older man’s neck. The second heartbeat calms his own and he sinks into Phil’s embrace. He can take his time with getting to know comfort and relaxation again.

Phil smiles softly and turns his head to nuzzle against the top of Clint’s head the best he can, sighing softly. “Oh, on occasion yes.” He says lightly, feeling tension start to slowly unspool out of Clint’s weary body. After literal weeks of worrying about the other man and over twice that of just missing him, it’s beyond relaxing to be like they are. He feels long tense muscles unwind, going limp and lazy. Everything is going to be just fine. The warmth curling in his chest allows no other alternative.

“More’n on occasion,” Clint mutters and presses himself closer. He’s way too tired for sex—a travesty—but he can at least still make sly comments about it. He peppers soft kisses along all the skin he can reach without moving too much.

Phil sighs at the soft kisses, skin shivering. “I know this is going to be nearly impossible, but do try to behave yourself, I don’t think you’re up for such things right now.” He snickers and just barely flicks Clint’s earlobe, it’s more of a soft brush of skin, so soft that he doesn’t even move the lobe.

“Iunno if I c’n even _get_ up fer things…” Clint sighs wistfully. A nap would certainly change that. He curls around Phil a little tighter and yawns. Kissing Phil’s neck on last time, he goes limp and falls asleep.

Phil smiles a bit, sighing in relief when he feels Clint go lax into sleep. He keeps a hold of him, face tucked into his hair, and just breathes. It’s not exactly a traditional meditation pose, but he works with it, falls into meditation but lets himself keep aware of his body more than usual, so he can feel the warmth of Clint pressed against him, so important, so vital to his life now. He said he’d keep watch and he does, awake and aware, more than content to listen to the other man breathe against him.


	2. Chapter 2

_He’s lost and he’s cold and he doesn’t know where to go. He’d been running from giant, blood-red wolves through the snow for so long that he doesn’t know where he began or where he’ll end. Just as one launches itself at him, it’s gaping jaws aiming to rip his arm off, he falls through the icy powder underfoot. Landing hard knocks what little breath he has from his lungs but oddly, it doesn’t hurt. He shivers and looks around as best as he can but it's too dark to see. People are calling him, begging him to help them, from every direction but he can’t see any of them. He doesn’t know which tunnel to go down._

_As his eyes adjust, he can see that each tunnel looks like it’s made of splintered glass or ice. He curls his toes in imagined pain, alerting himself that he’s barefoot. He is not too eager to go down any of them but… the wolves are digging at the ceiling. He can hear their snarls and rough pants, he can almost feel their breaths. He curls into himself and shudders as one of the wolves howl—they’re getting closer._

_“Help,” he manages to choke out into the cold. Others are begging him for help, but can’t he ask for it too?_

Phil blinks when he feels Clint twitch and tremble against him, and shifts toward him. He rubs a hand through the younger’s hair before stroking the side of his face, trying to reassure him. The dream apparently continues and has Clint curling up as tight as he can, his whimpering nearly lost against Phil’s chest.

“Help.”

“Clint. Clint, you’re having a nightmare.” Phil says quietly, rubbing his back and then lightly shaking him gently by the shoulders when that doesn’t work. “You’re safe. It’s alright. You’re just having a nightmare. Wake up, come on.”

_Phil’s voice comes from one of the tunnels before Clint and there is no doubt in his mind. He’ll always choose him over anyone else. A tremor races through the cave and a piece of ceiling falls and clips his shoulder. The wolves are coming._

_“Come on.”_

_It’s Phil calling him and Clint throws himself down the tunnel in a full sprint. The shattered glass or ice is under some flat, clear surface, thank some higher power. He runs and occasionally slips but doesn’t stop. He can’t stop. He knows if he stops, he’s dead. The cold air burns in his lungs until… it doesn’t. The tunnel is getting warmer and it feels like there are hands grabbing his arms and tugging him forward._

His eyes snap open.

Phil hears the sudden sharp intake of breath that comes with jerking awake, and he wraps his arms around Clint and hums softly, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “It was just a dream. You’re safe. You’re safe and I won’t let anything hurt you.” He murmurs softly. His hands trace abstract patterns on Clint’s back, swirls and circles and lazy back and forth arcs, trying to bodily ground the other man.

The hotel room is quiet, and with his exception of his gulping breaths, the loudest noise is the cycling of the ventilation. Clint lets his senses check the room. They’re still secure, tucked against each other safe in bed.

It’s even warmer than the end of the tunnel with Phil is right here and pulling him closer. Clint goes willingly, tangling their limbs together so they can’t be separated. He takes another shuddering breath and presses his face into Phil’s neck. He nods at the older man’s words, he trusts him. If Phil says it’s safe, then it’s safe.

Phil willingly tangles up further with him, rubbing his cheek against Clint’s hair. He falls into humming again, very softly, holding Clint and just trying to be there, be solid and comforting and safe.

Nightmares are not uncommon in SHIELD. When you see shit, and keep seeing shit, psych profiles go right to hell. Supposedly sleep aids were the second most prescribed thing from the medics, right behind general painkillers. Phil’s certainly no stranger to nightmares, insomnia, and operations dogging your steps for months at a time. He sympathizes with Clint, utterly. He’s been there before, he’s sure he’ll be there again. Sometimes it’s so much better to not weather it alone.

Clint melts into Phil’s arms and sighs softly. He’s warm and safe and wanted. Moving anywhere is not high in his priorities if he can have his… boyfriend… like this. (He needs a better word because boyfriend doesn’t sound dignified enough for Phil. Plus, ‘boyfriends’ are for teenage girls. He’s working on finding something better. Slowly.) Just Phil’s presence is chasing away the bits and pieces of the dream he barely remembered. All he can recall is feeling lost and needing direction… which Phil had provided. “Ya save me… even in my dreams.” It’s horribly sappy but he can’t stop it from slipping out.

“I try.” Phil murmurs, petting Clint’s back. “I’m glad I can help.” Feeling the other man relax soothes him a lot and he keeps Clint held close, smiling a bit in spite of himself. “I missed you a lot, you know. A lot. I’m so glad to have you back.”

“Ya succeed.” Clint smiles softly. He kisses along Phil’s neck a bit sleepily, an arm slithering about his ribs to hold him close. “Missed ya too.” God, had he. Not having Phil around had been a near-physical ache in his chest—not that he would say that now. How pathetic would he seem?

Phil smiles, warm and tender, shifting to press a kiss to Clint’s hair before settling back down. “This will be a good week.” He pauses, then snickers. “I took the battery out of my phone, too, by the way. If they need me they can email me. Screw it, Fury knows where we are and he’s the one that gave us the break. Let the world turn without us for a bit.”

“Really likin’ how yer mind works righ’ now.” Clint grins and tilts his head back to catch Phil’s lips with his own. He groans softly, fuck, he’d missed kissing him. He shifts closer, stroking over Phil’s back gently.

Phil shifts and tilts his head to capture the kiss, nearly diving into it. He brings up one hand to cradle the side of Clint’s face and jawline. As Clint moves, he rolls slightly, putting them mostly on their sides face to face to keep the embrace going. He hums softly at the hand rubbing his back.

Phil’s enthusiasm still shocks Clint sometimes but he melts against him, boneless, just the same. His mouth becomes a bit more insistent and desperate on Phils. A few times he had thought that he’d not return and get to see this man ever again. That’s the worst way to start a relationship in his opinion. He wants to see Phil a lot more often. He wants his nights and his mornings and all the time in between and all he can do to let him know is kiss him.

Moaning when Clint goes molten against him, Phil pushes as close as he can, hand sliding to cradle along the back of his neck gently. It’s a relief, in a way, a bittersweet one. He’s already pondered that theirs is a strange relationship, foxed edges and suspicious stories and an overhanging edge of the surreal about both their lives, but they still managed to fit like puzzle pieces, settle against each other with supreme comfort, happiness and, he thinks (hopes, wishes) permanence.

Clint hooks a leg around Phil’s and rolls on top of him. He’s sure his body can’t quite handle being pressed into the mattress from Phil’s full weight just yet. Both hands gently stroke along his lover’s face and neck as he deepens the kiss. He could get used to—or spoiled—by this. The archer just wants to take everything Phil will give him and maybe a little more besides.

Phil relaxes back, hands coming up to settle on Clint’s shoulders and stroking with his fingertips. Clint’s weight on on top of him draws a pleased noise from him, leaning up just slightly into the kiss and lips parting, tongue flicking out to brush Clint’s lips. Clint’s hands leave trails of heat that seems to linger, and he shivers.

The younger man presses closer at the hint of tongue, a soft note catching in his throat in a plea for more. He rolls his hips slowly, wanting to build this up slowly. He doesn’t know just what he can handle at the moment and he doesn’t want to rile Phil up only to let him down.

Phil can’t stop the soft noise of surprised exclamation that escapes his throat. He honestly figured Clint would need a lot more rest, but he doesn’t argue, just lets his archer run the show, hands petting over his back and down his arms, making himself stay relaxed into the bed. Clint’s fingers slip into Phil’s short hair, stroking along the soft strands with a content hum. He pulls back and rests their foreheads together and catches his breath. He’s way too riled up for doing so little. Two months is way too long.

Phil hums softly, smiling gladly and catching one of Clint’s hands, lacing their fingers together and turning his head, pressing his lips to Clint’s knuckles in soft kisses. “Oh, I missed that.” He kisses Clint’s fingertips then just nuzzles him face-to-face. Other words come to mind, almost escape but he bites his tongue with a lot of effort, just sighing happily.

“Be gentle wi’me,” Clint murmurs dryly as Phil’s holding the hand attached to his sprained wrist. The nuzzling is a bit more intense than usual as he’s more unshaven than usual. He hadn’t had time and frankly doesn’t care even now. “But I missed it too.” He tips his head and kisses him again.

“As gentle as you need.” He can feel the scratch of their mutual stubble but that’s okay. It just emphasizes that this is real, that they’re really both here after two months apart. He returns the kiss, keeping it warm and soft, letting out a soft shuddery sigh. He keeps Clint’s hand, the other twining into his hair.

Clint winks, “Good thing ya said need.” If he had his way… well. He won’t dwell on thoughts of what he can’t have just yet. No need to frustrate himself more than usual. He pulls back after one last kiss and sits up with a little effort due to sore muscles. He rests a hand on the center of Phil’s chest and rocks his hips with a small smirk.

Phil stares up at him, hands shifting to settle at Clint’s hips and waist to hold him there gently. The rocking nearly makes him bite his lip like a teenager and his hips press up ever so slightly into the attention, two months of neediness wanting to make itself known real, real quick. “God damn, you’re gorgeous.” He murmurs softly, reverently.

Clint reaches out and strokes the pad of his thumb over Phil’s lips. “Look who’s talkin’.” He replies just as quiet. He rolls his hips again, half-hard and wanting. “Remember the last time we had sex?” He leans down, a soft growl in his voice. “Back ta back ops an’ I was way more injured than this. Ya fucked me slowly in the back of a SHIELD vehicle as a warehouse burned down.”

“Yeah, yeah I remember.” Phil’s eyes go soft and dark, hips lifting up just slightly into the attention, growing equally as hard. “That was... honestly amazing. Not having to burn out alone, and falling asleep with you after...” Which was almost as good as the rest, waking up warm and safe with Clint tucked in his arms.

“Round one was pretty fuckin’ hot, too.” His grin is just a touch savage as he rolls his hips harder than before. He slips his good hand down Phil’s chest to rub the heel of his palm over Phil’s growing erection. The inside of his wrist brushes over himself and he barely keeps himself from making a sound. “I bet ya agree.”

Phil moans and bites his lip, hips twitching into the attention as his breathing gets harder. “Oh, yes, yes I did. I felt like a fucking idiot though, not realizing it sooner, that we both have a violence fetish. My god, the fun we could have been having.” He chuckles softly. “No matter. It was great fun, that’s enough, it was amazing.”

“Enough?” Clint barks a laugh and doesn’t even wince when  a bruise on his ribs makes itself known. He’s taking it too literally on purpose. “I could never have enough of ya.” He strokes over Phil a little more to feel him swell under his hand. “We still gotta make up for all the time we missed.” He smirks.

Phil smiles self deprecatingly. “That’s not really what I meant but...” He sucks in a hard breath, going fully hard under Clint’s touch. “I am just fine with making up for lost time. Not being able to touch you for two months? Yeah, frustrating...”

Clint chuckles and toys with the button on Phil’s pants with a fingertip as the heel still rubs against him. “Ya can touch me all ya want now, handsome,” he purrs. He plucks at the button until it unfastens and he looks down mock-shocked and all _‘well lookee here, did I do that?'_

Phil almost laughs because when the button’s undone the zipper pops about halfway open. He reaches up and traces his hands up Clint’s body slowly, tracing muscle lines with light fingertips. It’s still a wonder to him that he’s finally allowed to touch Clint, and he enjoys the feel of his warm skin under his hands.

Clint smirks wickedly and scoots down as he lowers the zipper the rest of the way. He nudges his pants down a little on each side alternating sides because his wrist is still too tender to use that hand much. He braces himself on his forearm and wraps his good hand around Phil’s erection. He looks up at Phil has his tongue darts out to dip into the slit momentarily.

Phil makes an inarticulate noise, shimmying out of his pants more. He cards a hand through Clint’s hair slowly, fingertips running over his scalp. “Goddamn, baby, mmn.” He keeps his hips still, levering up onto one elbow to watch Clint, eyes soft and dark.

“Ya know exactly what that does ta me, don’t ya?” Clint gripes softly about the endearment. He sucks gently along the shaft, flicking his tongue out from time to time to taste and tease.

“I, ah, have a pretty good idea yes...” He just barely manages not to squirm, eyes lulling as he focuses on the heat of Clint’s mouth. “‘S not why I do it though... I just like pet names, I guess. You liking it is a great bonus.”

“What others have ya wanted ta use?” Clint asks, curious. He strokes Phil gently and lets his tongue dart out for quick tastes every so often. Slowly raising Phil to the edge is his intention until the older man demands more.

Phil whines because it’s just not enough contact, not nearly, except when Clint’s tongue darts out and that keeps making him suck in air, one hand in Clint’s hair as the other digging into the bed. “Uh, ‘sweetheart’ is the other one I guess. Nothing real... creative... I need to come up with something more personal.”

Clint sucks at the base of the head and thinks. He’s not the best at meaningful nicknames (annoying but suitable ones however…) therefore he won’t be suggesting anything. “Come up with somethin’ good an’ I’ll reward ya.” He licks along the thick vein on the underside of Phil’s cock as a silent promise.

Phil groans, hips arching up into it slightly and panting. His brain scrambles but all that comes out is nearly stream of consciousness. “Ah.. mine, my archer, my marksman, all mine, fuck, baby, you are such a tease, driving me fucking insane…”

Clint shivers lightly. That definitely works for now. He hadn’t really expected a nickname, just Phil getting frustrated and demanding… both work. Yes. He sucks Phil into his mouth and all the way to the back of his throat greedily. It’s as much of a reward for Phil as it is a treat for Clint. He loves the weight of his handler’s cock against his tongue. 

Phil gasps out something unintelligible, head tipping back and arching off the bed for a moment before relaxing back, moaning and stroking through Clint’s hair again. “Ah, yes, better, so much better fff...” He bites back the words, the noise, he’s always been appalled at how noisy he can get, it’s so fucking embarrassing.

Clint sucks lightly as he pulls back, a wet pop coming from his mouth as Phil’s erection  bobs up toward his stomach. “Ya keep bein’ quiet an’ ya won’t get any more.” He smirks. He loves it when Phil is loud, it lets him know when he’s doing exceptionally well.

“...Evil. You are _evil._..” Phil gasps out, levering back up on his free elbow and attempting to glare down at Clint but he’s strung out enough that the look mostly fails. The loss of Clint’s mouth has left him chilled, and he pouts after a moment, blushing furiously. “Fine. Only because you’re blackmailing me.”

“Good.” Clint noses along the crease of Phil’s thigh up to his hip. He latches on with his mouth and heckles a dark love bite there, all red and blue and purple. “You’re mine too.” He nips the reddened edges as Phil squirms and trails into a sharp ‘OH’ of pleasure at the bite, shuddering. Clint slowly kisses his way back to Phil’s cock and swallows down until his nose brushes against the man’s pelvis. It’s a slow and calculated move so he doesn’t accidentally set off his gag reflex as his throat constricts a little against the tip.

Phil goes incoherent again at the sudden reintroduction of Clint’s mouth. “FUCK! Ah, yes, all yours, hnhh...” He ends in a sharp whine as his hand tugs a bit at Clint’s hair. The older man makes himself let go, flopping back on the bed and draping his other arm over his eyes, panting.

Clint smirks around him slightly. some of Phil’s erection slipping out of his mouth. He rolls his tongue along the underside and pushes down to moan loudly around him. He knows exactly what he’s doing, going for a vibration in his throat around the head of Phil’s erection. The archer rakes his short nails down the older man’s abdomen and thighs, goosebumps riddling the skin in his fingers wake.

Phil groans, the sound trailing into whimpers at the drag of Clint’s fingernails, feeling trails of skin go hot in response. “Ah, fuck, if you keep that up I’m not going to last very long...” He mumbles, hips trembling a bit but not thrusting up in spite of the fact that Clint’s mouth is fucking amazing.

Clint sucks hard as he pulls off. “Good. Jus’ what I want.” He smirks up at Phil and nips along the top of his thigh before sucking his erection back down. He hums softly and slowly begins to bob his head.

Phil whimpers and writhes, fingers curling into Clint’s hair again. Once Clint starts bobbing his head in earnest, Phil’s gone in less than a minute, groaning hard and loud, arching off the bed into it and panting. “Oh fuckin hell Clint oh my god...”

Clint swallows him down as he ruts against the bed. He’s been so focused on Phil’s reactions and taste and his moans that he didn’t realize how close he himself had gotten. He pulls off after he’s milked his lover’s cock dry, his voice rough and wrecked as he gasps, “Fuck, Phil, so fuckin’ amazin’…” He nuzzles the man’s softening cock and licks it clean as he continues to buck against the bed. It’s the only thing that doesn’t hurt at the moment amidst all his pain and bruises.

Phil pants and shakes off, then sits up and shoves down, claiming Clint’s mouth in a messy hungry kiss and sliding his hands down Clint’s back. “Let me return the favor. Roll over, come on babe..” He murmurs against Clint’s mouth softly, nipping his lower lip.

Clint hisses faintly, “careful, ‘m covered in bruises.” He squirms a little under Phil’s hands to guide him away from his hurts. He carefully moves away from Phil and gingerly lays on his back.

Phil winces in regret. “I’m sorry, I’ll be careful.” He lays a trail of whisper soft kisses down Clint’s body. He moves fast but gentle to move Clint’s clothing out of the way. Phil licks a stripe down his cock, exploring it again with his tongue to get reacquainted after a long absence before swallowing him down.

Clint grips the bedding firmly with one hand while he puts his injured one above his head to not tempt himself to hurt his wrist by grabbing anything. “Fuck, Phil, please…” His hips twitch up at the lick and he keens softly as wet heat engulfs him. “Ohh, fuck, I missed yer mouth.”

Phil makes a noise at what Clint says, a happy shiver passing down his spine. He bobs his head slowly and laps under the edge of the head. With a hitched breath from above, Phil takes it as a cue to pull off to nip a trail down just barely before taking him back in. He reaches over and catches Clint’s uninjured hand with one of his own, lacing their fingers and squeezing lightly.

Clint whines and grips Phil’s hand tight. He babbles to the man going down on him. It’s mostly ‘Phil’ and ‘fuck’ and ‘more’ and ‘please’ with varying urgency. He keeps his bucking hips under control as best he can because if he moves too much it just hurts and makes his erection wane slightly. It certainly helps draw this out longer, but at this point he isn’t looking for that.

Phil pulls off him and kisses the tip. “Hey, relax.” He murmurs and pulls back, leaning up and kissing the hand he’s captured. “I’ve got you, okay, just relax.” That said, he swallows Clint back down, burying his nose in warm skin with a pleased sigh, more than happy where he is.

“Relax says the man wi’the most amazin’ mouth on the planet as he sucks my cock,” Clint mutters a bit shakily. His toes curl when Phil sucks him down completely. He shivers. “Please,” he gasps.

Phil would laugh if he wasn’t busy, in the mean-time just keeps his smile to himself, bobbing his head slowly. He lingers in areas that make Clint moan or shake more than others and curls his tongue around him. He strokes back down, swallowing and humming.

Clint whines and rocks his hips up, hissing as a bruise on his hip protests loudly to the treatment. “Phil, please…” He pants softly and squeezes his hand. He really wants Phil to fuck him into next week but he can’t handle that quite yet and he hates it. This is the best (and it’s pretty amazing) he can get for the time being.

Phil sighs and backs off again, sucking on two of his fingers and shifting up slightly before taking Clint back into his mouth, but this time slips his free hand under Clint’s body. His slick fingers land and massage lightly at Clint’s entrance, rubbing at the same rhythm he’s bobbing his head. He’s not willing to do much more because he can feel the twitches of pain going through Clint’s body. The other man’s going to need more recovery time before they can start screwing again, but what the hell, Phil can be patient. Especially when he can at least do this.

Clint gasps and pushes down against those fingers. “Oh, fuck, so close…” He trembles against him, soft and needy noises escaping parted lips. Pleasure rolls along his spine in accumulating waves, each time it’s a little more intense. “Phil, so ‘mazin’, f-fuck…” He just barely resists thrusting up into his mouth because any more pain will push his orgasm away and he wants—he _needs_ to come.

 _Come on baby, let go_ , Phil thinks, keeping Clint swallowed down and letting one finger just barely push in. The shivers going through the other man seem to indicate Clint’s held back by the barest of threads and he wants, needs to see Clint get off so bad, sucking just a bit harder.

Clint chokes softly, all noise from his mouth ceasing as he finally comes. His whole body tenses under Phil and he grips his hand all the tighter before suddenly going completely limp. He sighs almost explosively. “F-fuck, that’s… you… fuck.”

Phil backed off and licked his lips, shifting up to settle down face to face with Clint again, nuzzling him. “You. Are delightful.” He murmurs and just snuggles in carefully. “And I can stand to stay in bed a while longer.”

Clint shivers and wraps his arm around Phil as tightly as he can stand. He kisses him firmly at first but lets it slow down gradually until they move slowly together. “Yer fuckin’ perfect. Dunno what I did ta deserve all this.”

Phil chuckled. “You’re kidding. Years of perfect skilled performance and saving each others asses? You’re perfect. Amazing. Glorious. Isn’t that enough?” He smiled, arms wrapping around Clint.

Clint certainly doesn’t think these things of himself but he knows from experience that it’s best not to voice that particular opinion. He settles for shrugging one shoulder and muffling a yawn in the older man’s chest.

Phil snickers and keeps him held close. “Go back to sleep, baby. I’ll be here when you wake up.” And maybe they’d catch a shower, he’d pour some painkillers into Clint and they’d see about getting something to eat, at a leisurely pace.

No rush. They had all the time in the world, for now at least.

Clint tightens his grip around the older man slightly. “Y’better be.” He loves waking up in Phil’s arms as much as he does being held when injured. He knows he’ll be even more sore than before when he wakes up but getting more rest is definitely worth it.


	3. Chapter 3

Their week in Morocco passed far too fast for Phil. It created a lot of good memories, a lot of happy ones. It was just so good to spend time with Clint and not feel like he was waiting for the world to explode. It’s so easy to get used to waking up with Clint in his arms, warm and relaxed against him. Now, it’s the last day and he’s waking up with Clint against him in a warm line of sweetly scented skin. He resists moving for a few moments, trying to absorb this fuzzy contentedness down to his very core.

Clint’s waking up in paradise and it has nothing to do with the locale. He’s never been more relaxed (or more laid) in his life and it’s perfect. He’s feigning sleep because he’s cuddled up to Phil’s chest and being gently held there. Why would he ever want to leave? Unfortunately, the day is their last in Morocco. Unfortunately, Phil will have to go to his office and do paperwork while Clint goes in for medical tests and evaluations to see how soon he can return to duty. And report to Nat, because she wants the juicy details (but the abridged version) and the present that Clint has yet to get for her.

Clint wriggles closer and buries his face in Phil’s neck, his arm tightening around him. Nope, he’s not awake, shut up.

Phil smiles and comes out of the drift he was in, curling an arm tighter around Clint and tucking his face down to bury against Clint’s hair. His marksman doesn’t say anything so he doesn’t either, more than willing to lay there a bit longer, pressed close and faking slumber. That is, until his stomach lets it be known, loudly, that he’s hungry. And that makes him laugh and back off enough to nose Clint’s forehead gently. “Breakfast?”

Clint hums his agreement, picturing all of the foods they’ve tried. None of them really sounded like something that would agree with his stomach so early in the morning, nor when they’re about to get on a plane back to the states. “Jus’ fruit fer m’please.” He slurs, not moving an inch—except to shift a little closer.

Phil smiles and presses as close as he can, smoothing a hand down Clint’s spine and letting his fingers draw abstract patterns across the small of his back. “Mm. A light breakfast would work just fine.” That still requires moving though.

It’s almost half an hour later when his stomach protests nigh-painfully and he sighs, kissing Clint’s forehead and rolling away slowly, sitting on the edge of the bed and stretching his arms out above his head.

Clint watches Phil’s muscles move under the skin of his back appreciatively. He crawls forward and kisses the base of his spine before slipping his arms around his hips. He lazily kisses, licks, and nips his way up his handler’s back and pauses only to nuzzle at his ribs when he gets to them before continuing his way up. He nibbles along the line of his shoulder and kisses his jaw. “Or I could have ya for breakfast.”

Phil shivers, leaning back into the attention. Goosebumps rise fast, a flush spreading because he doesn’t have to keep his reactions tamped down here and now. He tips his head after a moment, lacing his hands and arms over his archer’s with a fond sigh. “Clint.” He snickers. “Much as I adore that idea, it’s not going to get food in my stomach.”

Clint nuzzles along the line of his neck with a sigh. The tip of his nose reddens from the roughness of stubble but he doesn’t care. Phil with stubble is really, really hot. He told him so when Phil had rubbed a hand over his cheek and muttered about shaving a few days ago. He sucks on Phil’s earlobe for a second before humming apologetically. “Sorry, handsome,” he squeezes his hips and rests his chin on his shoulder briefly, “jus’ can’t resist ya, y’know?” He slips around him and stands, naked, to stretch.

Phil watches this, scratching at his beard stubble, because he’s past a five o’clock shadow and pushing into a beard now. “You’re doing that on purpose.” He mutters but gets to his feet, pacing into a sunny spot in the hotel room. Two can play at this game, and he has his rituals, so he steps his feet out slightly and stretches his arms above his head before swooping them down and getting the flats of his hands on the floor, leaping back into a plank position as he starts a sun salutation. His stomach can wait for his body to be properly awake, after all.

Clint grins and enjoys the view for a bit before sneaking in to pinch Phil’s butt, sprinting to the bathroom in a hasty escape. He grabs a change of clothes on the way (half his and half Phil’s) and slams the door behind him, locking it with a cackle. He knows that Phil could unlock it if he really wants to but he hopes he’ll be too busy… doing whatever that was.

Phil snorts and laughs, though he doesn’t break the pose he’s in, yelling after Clint. “You’re a brat, you know that?” Not that he’d change Clint for the world. By the time Clint’s out of the bathroom he’s finished his sun salutation and has grabbed clothes to wear for the day, waiting for his turn patiently and reading Al Jazeera Arabic on his laptop.

Clint scrubs at his hair a little more as he steps out in his shorts and one of Phil’s tees. It’s a bit worn around the edges but it’s really soft and was blue at one point but it’s so faded it’s hard to be sure which shade of blue. “Yer brat,” he grins around the towel and lets it flop to his shoulders.

“Stealing my clothing now?” Phil snorts and stands, picking up his clothes and stealing a kiss on his way to the bathroom. He honestly has to debate for several minutes about shaving, looking at himself in the mirror and pondering the beard stubble. He’s one of those people that looks rather different with facial hair in his opinion, but Clint seems amused by it so he leaves it be for now, stepping out of the bathroom about fifteen minutes later, in jeans and an old band shirt.

“Only the comfy ones.” He replies as Phil disappears into the bathroom. He wonders if Phil’s going to shave or not, briefly, and is pleasantly surprised when the older man returns with hair still on his face. He smiles and steps over to kiss him, enjoying the rough feel of it against his skin.

Phil smiles a bit and returns the kiss, then nuzzles in, snickering at the soft drag of his facial scruff against Clint’s skin. “I did think about shaving,” he murmurs, reading Clint’s facial expression in a way that he only can, “but hell, it can wait until we get back. You seem to like this.” He scratches at his chin. “Maybe I’ll do a beard a while, there is no dress code against it as long as it’s neat.”

“Be a wild mountain man.” Clint chuckles and tries to imagine Phil in a plaid flannel shirt with jeans and an axe. The image is a lot more appealing than he thought it would be and he looks Phil over consideringly. “Hmm….”

Phil blinks, watching Clint and lifting an eyebrow at the look on his face. “What are you thinking about?” He wonders out loud, then considers and starts to laugh. “I never wanted to be an assassin, I wanted to be.. a LUMBERJACK! Jumping from tree to tree, as they float down the mighty rivers of British Columbia!” He steps away, making overly theatrical gestures with his arms as he figures out where his shoes are. “The giant redwood! The larch! The fir! The mighty Scots pine!”

Clint steps over to him quickly and drags him into a hard kiss. “No,” he says when he stops, “No lumberjack song. I will withhold food from ya an’ yer the hungrier one.” He has nothing against Monty Python but that song has been killed for him and he’ll always skip it when he watches the show.

Clint has a small bag that he grabs with the intention to put his souvenirs in as he purchases them. It gathers at the top, the ties for the opening turning into the shoulder strap. It’s a dark rough canvas (almost like a potato sack, Natasha had said). He doesn’t care that Sitwell said it looked like a beggerwoman’s purse. It’s secure (enough. It won’t stop a knife) for little things. And fruit.

“You started it.” Phil sticks out his tongue and gets his boots laced up, shoving his wallet in his pocket. “Let’s see what we can find by way of a light breakfast.” The hotel lobby, naturally, has fruit and some baked goods. Phil hovers for a moment, looking at Clint to see if that’s enough or if he wants to go out.

Clint picks a few pieces that will travel well and plops them into the bag with the intention to snack on them as they wandered through markets and the like. He picks a few of the baked goods that he knows his stomach can handle to enjoy right then. When he’s done he looks at Phil, smiling. “Ready?” He has a small smear of some jam in the corner of his mouth.

By the time Clint’s done, Phil’s already destroyed enough baked goods to satisfy his appetite for the time being, and is working on an apple. “Ready as I’ll ever be. Let’s go be tourists and clutter up some markets.” He smiles, bringing up his free hand and using his thumb to clear away the smudge of jam, licking it after.

Clint smiles up at him and licks the corner of his mouth to see if there is any other residue. He shrugs and grabs another pastry with one hand and Phil’s with the other. “Lead on, MacDuff.” He squeezes the hand lightly.

Phil ends up flagging down a taxi to take them to a decent outdoor market, holding the door for Clint as they get out and walking with him, smiling and taking in the swirl of culture around them. “So, I’m thinking. I’d love to make this an annual thing. Vacation together every year if we can manage it.”

“And attempt on goin’ places where we haven’t been sent on a job. Unless it’s one of those occasions when ya wanna go back.” Clint has to admit he’s been to some places he’d like to return and others he’d love to never remember exist.

“I like Bali, Jakarta, and Taiwan. Among other places. But then, I won’t lie, I can make myself at home almost everywhere, so I’m more than open to suggestions. I lean toward warm climates when I’m relaxing though.” Given the option, Phil will dress native and fade in, as much as a muscular white man can anyway.

“No snow.” Clint says quickly. “At the rate tha’ I see Russia, I think I might hate it more’n ‘Tasha does.” He chuckles dryly and starts to poke his nose along the vendors carts for presents for people (and maybe one for Phil if he can sneakily buy that tea he’s always making orgasm noises over in the mornings. He knows how to say it but read it? Ha).

“Hate to say it but I agree. I don’t want to deal with snow unless I’m somewhere I can make snowmen. Or snowmonsters.” He looks around at the rich colors surrounding them and sighs, thinking that he really should pick up something for his brother and sister. He tries to remember their home decor because he’s not beyond mailing fancy-schmancy rugs to them. Actually… “You know? I should get something for my brother and sister. And they both have kids. I doubt we’re going to find toys but hell, could you help me look? I am always amused by their thank you notes.”

Clint just barely stops himself from blurting “ya have a family?” but only just. He knows there has to be far more polite ways to go about it. “I didn’t know ya had nieces and/or nephews.” Included in that is of course ‘I didn’t know you had a brother and a sister either’.

“Well, shit, I can’t believe I never talked about them.” Phil digs out his phone and unlocks it, going through the pictures and leaning to show Clint. “There’s the three of us a few years ago. I’m the oldest and the black sheep of the family. They’re twins. Clara and Christopher. Clara’s a sound engineer in LA, has two boys. Christopher’s a graphics artist in the Bay Area, he’s got twin girls and a boy. Twins run in the family I guess. Chris paints too, some of the stuff up in my apartment is his work.” He puts his phone away once Clint’s done looking. “They all think I work for government intelligence.”

Clint smiles as he looks at the pictures. They all look so normal and happy. They’re lucky. If Clint didn’t already have enough motivation to keep Phil safe when out on a job… these pictures added to and solidified that. He would never let anything really bad happen if he could help it just to keep those smiles on his siblings’ faces. “I can see the resemblance.” The kids look adorable, but he’ll keep that to himself. He’s sure that Phil already suspects his huge soft spot for kids. He doesn’t have to confirm it right now.

“I have better pictures on my computer if you’d like.” Phil pauses, honestly taken in for a moment by a selection of brightly painted carved wooden animals before pausing. “I don’t know...” he muses to himself idly. Turning to Clint, he asks, “Some of the kids are pushing ten, now, would these be too silly for them?” The youngest would probably be down though, he thinks, particularly Chris’s son, who would probably be all about the bright red giraffe.

“Phil,” Clint looks the little animals over and picks up some bird of prey with fine details on its little wings. “Yer their cool uncle tha’ they never get ta see an’ ya bring ‘em presents fer their not-birthdays an’ not-Christmases from far away.” He looks up at him and says simply. “I woulda bawled my eyes out from bein’ so overwhelmin’ly happy tha’ someone thought ‘bout me when I was ten an’ tha’ they actually wanted ta get me somethin’ an’ _did_.”

Phil looks at him, something tight and warm rolling in his chest that he can’t express without sounding oh so very creepy. He has the red giraffe in his hands, finger tracing the neck back and forth for a moment. “Well, I couldn’t spoil you then so I guess I just have to spoil you now.” He finally says, his voice thick with emotion. He gets into a conversation with the old man who owns the little animals, the giraffe still in hand.

Somehow as a result of Phil’s bartering, he ends up with a whole circus of little multi-colored animals in a box. He doesn’t mind, he’ll just divide them up between the kids, but he saves the owl for Clint.

“If ya had spoiled me then, it’d’ve been creepy as fuck.” There is certainly an age gap between the two of them but it’s more prominent if Clint is 10 and not 33.  He grins as he accepts the owl anyway. It’s purple, so why would he say no? It has a little loop on the back of his neck that he could put a cord through and he makes it a point to find one as soon as he can so he can wear the little bird about his neck.

“Yeah. I know, it’s creepy, but the sentiment’s still there somehow.” Phil sighed. “Sorry.” Phil manages not to buy half the market, but he does get a bag for his sister, and a little tapestry for his brother. The bag also gives him an easy way to carry the box of carved critters and the tapestry. Gift list checked off, he just walks with Clint, happier than he’s been in a long time.

Clint buys a gorgeous dress for Natasha and (sneakily) tea for Phil. He’s still looking for a while before he finally finds incense. He looks it over for a long time, delicately smelling the pungent sticks until he picks a scent. He glances over to Phil and mumbles, “For Momma.” He doesn’t care how childish he sounds when he says it that way, his mother has been gone for almost ten years and before that she’d only been a presence in his mind, a motivation to do good and gain money to pay for her hospital bills. It had been his fault, all his fault that he had been caught in the fire he’d set to kill his abusive father.

As always, he misses her greatly.

The incense catches Phil as well, and he browses through them, eventually buying some for himself and tucking it into the bag. He only nods at Clint’s reasoning. He knows that Clint’s mother passed a long time ago, two years before the man had joined SHIELD. Phil’s parents had passed some time ago and Phil still collects Godzilla movies casually, and uses his mother’s recipes, and tries very hard to light candles on the day they died (even though he’s not religious anymore). A few times that had meant bringing a candle with him on jobs and only letting it burn a short while, but needs must.

Clint doesn’t actually have any other friends to buy gifts for. He doesn’t have any family, and the one person he considered family from the circus hadn’t contacted him in the years since he’d been left to die in a ditch by the side of a road. How is he to know if she still had the same old, old phone number? He thinks on it a while before picking out a necklace for her and putting it in his bag as well.

Phil gets lucky and finds a jacket for Natasha that works with the dress Clint got for her. It’s slightly too large, but he figures she’ll appreciate the extra room, and the pockets to boot.

“I think I’m set.” Phil smiles at Clint. “No rush though.”

“Nah, ‘m good.” It’s the least obvious way to say “I don’t have anyone else important to me”, which, really, is quite sad on his part. He knows he couldn’t have done any better. He’d tried and failed and couldn’t trust anyone else to fill the void until Nat and Phil came along.

“Mm. Come on then. We should probably see about getting ready to catch our plane, anyway.” Phil catches one of his hands as they walk, sighing a bit. “Back to the grindstone. You know I could do with some nice straightforward gigs, surveillance hit and leave. No muss or fuss. Naturally, that’s unlikely.”

“Or a milk run where I don’t get gut shot.” That would be a bonus (although that had only been one time. But any milk runs they end up on have a way with becoming clusterfucks). At least it hadn’t been someone from his own side beating him down while he hadn’t been in control of his own mind but, come on.  He was supposed to have someone keeping an eye out for him while he did the important stuff, not let him get brainwashed by the Russians. Thank god Natasha is good at jarring his brain in such a way that there isn’t significant, lasting damage.

They head back to the hotel to make sure that they’d packed up everything as well as check out. They take their time to get to the airport. It’s massive and overly busy and pretty stress inducing just by looking it over from the parking lot. Phil groans softly and he can hear Clint make a similar noise of exasperation.

Phil catches Clint gently with fingers touching his wrist to take his hand. He leads the way through the airport, gets their luggage checked, and navigates the crowds with relative ease. He’s long used to it, this scene being one that’s constantly in his life. He delivers them to their gate relatively quickly and unscathed, and finds seats for them away from the rest of the waiting crowds. He’s using the bag he got his sister as his carry-on for the moment, the few things he wants on the plane (like his e-reader) tucked inside of it.

“Should start a fan club,” Clint says idly as he checks the small bag he’s using as a carry-on. “Phil Coulson, airport navigator.” He has his StarkPad and his mp3 player filled with audiobooks and games to play with his headphones are looped around his neck. He’s ready to be entertained for the hours it takes for them to cross the Atlantic and return to good old New York City. Usually he hates traveling and airports and the like but right now… right now and until he steps off the plane he is no one but Clint Barton, tourist. He will enjoy his little on-my-vacation bubble until Fury or some urgent mission pops it.

Chuckling, Phil rolls his eyes and squeezes Clint’s hand. He hasn’t a retort for that and settles in to people watch as they wait for their flight. He had gotten them business class tickets, because Phil refuses to spend long flights in coach on commercial airlines and he considers business class a happy medium. So he’s content to settle into their seats side by side, with their fingers laced together because it’s not like anyone’s going to give a damn.

Together they relax and settle in. Tomorrow would bring work and the daily trouble that life had in store for them. For now, they could just be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last day of their Morocco trip is on December 12th, 2004.


End file.
